Dirty Little Secret
by Lost1n7heDark
Summary: Everyone has one. Funny how sometimes the things you keep from others is what they're keeping from you. Rated for themes and language. And of course, a slight B/F. Slight. If you read, review.
1. Chapter 1

**Shortest. Chapter. Ever.**

**But the next chapter's up now. There's more to go.  
**

**So review.  
**

* * *

"Can we just leave Faith out of this one?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Kennedy**

"Whatever."

She pretends not to give a single damn in the world, even if it's the best idea she thinks she's heard in a while.

Even if she'd frozen at the name.

There are only three names she freezes around; her body temperature drops and her muscles tense.

Not that they'd particularly notice.

They just think she's a tense person, and don't even bother with trying to figure out what it is that's wrong.

She'd never tell a single soul which name it was that destroyed everything.

Because it was over the second she'd heard it from the depths of the heart she wished was hers.

The heart she still wishes is hers.

The name that freezes.

The name that destroyed.

There is only one more.

The name that brings heartache.

* * *

**Flashback**

Kennedy doesn't bother with the knocking.

She slams her fist on the door a couple times.

She starts yelling with a drunken slur.

"Faith! Open the damn door! Faith!"

She's still banging the door when it opens.

Her Slayer reflexes are far from working and so her fist finds connection with Faith's face.

_(Faith found it ironic that she had often felt like beating Kennedy's face in.)_

Faith's fingers press against her bleeding lip.

Kennedy just stares, brain not quite absorbing it, but her eyes spark with a bloodlust.

One that can only be satiated with more Slaying or with a good fuck.

There are only two ways Faith can handle this.

Pick and choose between gentle and rough.

Faith growls and pulls the younger Slayer in by the hair and slams the door shut.

"What the fuck do you want?"

She plays rough.

Kennedy just grabs her by the ass and smashes hungry lips to bloody ones.

Faith almost smiles against the show of primal domination and reacts accordingly.

Kennedy loves to dominate, but her hidden fantasy is to **be** dominated.

_(Faith knew this, because they were much alike and it was always __**her**__ fantasy.)_

Give them what they want.

She slams the girl against the closed door and trails rough kisses down her body, tearing clothes along the way.

"Ohh yea...Willow...fuck..."

It's not long before it gets hot and heavy.

Sex has that kind of power.

Willow (Faith) keeps it up, giving everything; her only goal to please.

Kennedy just takes and takes until she can't take anymore and has to let go.

Holding onto Willow (Faith) as tight as she can, because in this room, **anything** is reality.

"Willow...Willow...Willow..." Chanting the name of heartache over and over and over.

Making noise for the absence of sound on Willow's (Faith's) part.

Her fingers filling her just right, gentle and rough at the same time.

Time ticking away as Willow (Faith) thrusts harder, lesser, faster, slower, all at Kennedy's demand.

Working diligently at being soft and precious at the right moment.

Not needing to work so hard at being hard and rough at others.

No complaints until she is done.

Giving it a couple more rounds in that considerate Willow (Faith) way.

In the morning Kennedy leaves without looking at Willow (Faith) still lying in bed, pretending in her mind that she'll see her and love her again later.

Because inside she can't come to terms that the girl she fell in love with will never truly love her in return.


	3. Chapter 3

**Willow**

"Fine by me."

She is nervous, but they all think it's just the tension.

If asked, she'd probably agree.

Of course, she'd never really say why.

Just agree.

Isn't that what she's best at?

Playing the innocent?

She's nervous because the memories make her a lot more uncomfortable than she'd like to admit.

She's nervous because of the coolness, the indifference, in the eyes that had worshipped her only two months ago.

She's nervous because it doesn't hit her as hard as she knows it should.

* * *

**Flashback**

Willow wanders the streets tonight, unafraid, uncaring, only wanting to drown out the pain and somehow ends up at some apartment complex a few blocks away.

Knock knock knock.

She expects to hear a curse, to hear a,

"Come in, it's open!"

But she doesn't.

The door just opens and there she is.

"Red?"

"H-h-hi Faith!" Too chipper.

"I was just y-you know, here to...see how you were doing! That's right. Me and the checking up...thing."

Faith sees the tears before they fall.

Instinctively she just steps to the side, motioning for the redhead to come in.

She did.

They both sit on the bed.

"S-sorry to barge in on you like this. I-"

"What's wrong, Willow?" Faith's voice is soft.

Gentle.

Unusually sincere.

Willow wants to say,

"Nothing!"

But she's said it too many times today.

She begins to cry.

"I can't do this anymore; I wake up every morning hoping she's still here, because if she's not haunting my day, she's haunting my dreams. Goddess, when will she just leave me alone?"

Hysterical.

Then the arms wrap around her, gentle but protective.

Soft, but firm.

A voice shushing her, telling her that it'll be okay.

Willow looks up into dark brown eyes, strokes dark brown hair, imagines both are lighter, then kisses her.

_(Faith had wondered about saying something, but there was something desperately needy about Willow's kiss, so she said nothing.)_

"Tara..." She whispers.

It's a beg, a plea...a demand?

She deepens the kiss, hands start to roam, and somehow she manages to pull off all of Tara's (Faith's) clothes.

The night is soft and near beautiful.

Because she is with who she wants to be with right now.

Closing her eyes and seeing Tara (Faith), moving her hands and feeling Tara (Faith), opening her lips and tasting Tara (Faith).

"Tara...baby..."

Moaning it out loud as below her comes whimpers of appreciation.

"Please...touch me."

Another plea.

Tara (Faith) rolls them over and places soft kisses over her tears, over her cheeks and nose and lips and jaw and neck and all the nooks and crannies that make up Willow.

It means something to Willow.

Something like perfection.

Something like love.

"I love you." Whispers Willow, waiting for an answer that may or may not come, even though she knows what it is.

There's another kiss to her nose.

"I...love you, too." Tara (Faith) whispers back.

_(Faith couldn't __**not**__ respond, so she responded with a whisper, because maybe it would be easier for Willow to pretend it was Tara that way.)_

And when they're finished Willow snuggles into the soft touch of Tara (Faith) and tries not to breathe in too deep.

Because she knows if she smells that scent of musk and liquor and cigarettes, the warmth she feels could never be who she wants it to be.


	4. Chapter 4

**Xander**

"Sure thing, Buff."

Like always, he agrees without a question.

It is his puppy-dog loyalty and compassion that - they believe - is the reason for his agreement.

He'd be too ashamed to admit that it's only because he has other things on his mind.

One other thing.

One other person.

Maybe two, but only because he somehow got someone else involved in his misery.

He wonders if he likes it better that way.

* * *

**Flashback**

The door opens.

"H-hey, Faith! Just here to talk. You know, cause you look like you've been down and thought you could use a friend...or something."

He doesn't know why he's here.

The last time he tried this it ended not so well.

But then again, he's here for a different reason now.

He doesn't have anyone to save this time around.

Only himself.

_(Faith figured they all just have some sort of hero complex and decided to take it out on a spin...on her. Or pretend to, at least.)_

"Well I've been better, but come on in."

She's nicer.

Friendlier.

Definitely less hostile.

"Nice place."

It's so bare, so empty, it makes him want to fidget.

"Better than most places." She's speaking from experience.

Then he looks her shyly in the eyes and she must see something she's seen before because she pulls him in passive aggressively and kisses him.

"I want orgasms. Lots of them. Now." Anya (Faith) demands in a low voice, and he suddenly feels her there.

The clothes are quickly but gently removed; the sex isn't vanilla, but there is no kink.

Anya (Faith) loves him until the dawn breaks, because he needs it so much.

It becomes Xander's never-ending closure.

"An..." He moans.

But she says nothing.

The ex-vengeance demon (Slayer) only kisses him deeper and show him her undying need for orgasms.

And when he's the one on top, he leans in to whisper the special little secrets they shared.

_(All the secrets that sometimes made Faith want to be sick and cry. All the secrets she would never share with anyone.)_

Xander promises her the world.

Anya (Faith) promises him her loyalty.

_(Because at least __**that**__ wasn't a lie.)_

"Did you know...?" He asks in fear.

"I knew. I know." She murmurs back.

"She..."

And Anya (Faith) pauses.

"...**I**...always loved you."

And once he falls asleep he lets her lay her head against his arm and he lies on his side to look into her eyes, seeing only light.

When the spell is broken, he half waits for her to toss him from the window.

What he doesn't realize at first is that **Anya** (Faith) will never throw him out holding his clothes.

Because Anya (Faith) is who she is.


	5. Chapter 5

**Cordelia**

"Why?"

She always has to ask the hard questions.

It's what she's good at.

Being difficult; because nobody else has the balls to be a bitch to Buffy Summers.

Except one other person, but clearly, she isn't there.

So she takes up the act, and ignores the relief.

It's so much easier to pretend.

So much easier to believe she can ice out everything.

Freeze it all.

* * *

**Flashback**

"Hello, Faith." She purrs seductively.

"Cordy."

Tough.

Rough.

But available to be played with.

Cordelia steps in and throws her jacket on the floor before she is asked and begins to unbutton her shirt.

"I suppose you know why I'm here."

Faith shuts the door behind her and puts on her most sexy grin.

"Don't know, Cor. Why don't you remind me?"

Indeed, she knows what she's doing.

Cordelia appreciates it very much.

She confidently pins Faith against the wall and kisses her neck, shirt three-fourths of the way undone.

Faith helps undo it.

The vampire (Slayer) gently pushes her back and lays the girl on the bed, now kissing Cordelia on the neck.

_(Sometimes when she sat to think, she realized just how ironic the situation had become...)_

Over the weakest, softest layer of skin.

Over the pulse.

Thump thump, goes the heart.

He (she) bites.

Hard.

Cordelia cries out in pain.

In pleasure.

"Mine." Angel's (Faith's) voice is scratchy and deep.

Claiming his (her) territory.

"Yes..." Gasps Cordelia.

Who pretends.

"Ohh...Angel..." She whispers as Angel (Faith) continues to trail kisses down her flushed body.

Moaning as he (she) adds pressure with his (her) leg against her.

_(Faith had pressed the thigh in between the legs, grinding slowly in the way she __**knew**__ he did.)_

Not saying much, just grunting and kissing and biting.

**Giving**.

He (she) runs a trail with his (her) hands down her body, pinching nipples, gliding in sweat, reaching the destination.

The point of no return.

Thrust, two, three.

"More..." She moans.

Angel (Faith) doesn't say a word as he (she) does as she asks.

More and more and more.

And after that's done, his (her) kisses moving down and down and down.

Always giving more.

Giving his (her) all, just like she wants him to.

Going at it as hard as any demon, until Cordelia cries out her pleasure into the night.

Until she's chanting his name over and over again like a mantra to her life.

And he (she), always silent, ever so strong, just keeping at it with that gentle firmness that embodies Angel (Faith).

Cordelia doesn't want it to stop, doesn't let him (her) stop, until she's spent and all her energy is gone.

On and on until she can't feel.

Because of the fact that **he** really doesn't.

At the end of the night, she still can't admit she's in love with a living dead man and it's the reason she keeps coming back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Angel**

"Are you positive we can do this without her?"

He really just wants to scream,

"Yes!"

And be done with it.

But he is Angel, and he must put up that mask of reason because that's who they know him to be.

And it was true.

He was exactly that, and that was who he was.

The voice of reason.

They don't know that it's all a lie now.

But all angels must learn to lie to their gods, and he finds it funny that it's still so easy to do it.

Second best, only to Lucifer himself.

* * *

**Flashback**

He comes in for business, but his heart aches.

When they are done she lifts her hand for a handshake, maybe a high five.

But he pulls her into a hug.

He doesn't know why, he just does.

They should pull away, but he can't let go.

He holds her tighter, and the tears he hasn't spilt yet spills.

Faith freezes, because she knows.

And it kills her.

_(She added more mud on her walls later, this time closing everything down, knowing that even her twisted version of Jesus Christ was also guilty of using her.)_

But she lets his hands roam down further to hesitantly, then firmly, grab at her ass.

It only goes on from there.

She whimpers instead of moans, because she know she's being thrust into **her** body.

Again.

And not on purpose this time.

Or maybe, in some twisted way, she was.

So she whimpers, like she knows she should whimper.

She's less rough, she's more gentle, more virginal because that's the girl Angel left behind in Sunnydale.

But now he's less gentle, he's more rough; he's waited too long.

And he'll grip her wrists tighter, thrust into her harder, make her cry because he wants her so bad.

Because he needs her so badly.

_(If he couldn't have __**her**__, he might as well have Faith, right? Always second best...)_

He finds that one spot.

His weakness.

Her weakness.

He bites.

He draws blood.

She makes a slight whimper.

It hurts.

_(Faith recalled having a flashback on the other time she allowed him to drink from her. It hurt then, but this time had hurt so much more.)_

"Mine."

This time it is really Angel, not Faith.

And this time it's not Cordelia.

It's Buffy (Faith).

This time, and the next, and the next and the next and the next...

"Buffy..." He murmurs to the sheets right beside her ear, like he will every night he is there, right before he rolls over crying and falls asleep.

_(She always thought he was the hardest to please, because being Buffy Summers is the hardest person she could ever pretend to be.)_

He doesn't realize until an alarm rings that he slept with his hands around her neck.


	7. Chapter 7

**Buffy**

She asks because she's been feeling a little guilty.

A little ashamed.

Maybe in some sort of denial, because lost love plays no part in her pleasure except as a disguise.

Not that she'd ever admit it.

Not even if it hurts someone else more than she'd ever realize.

And her lust and need for fulfillment only seals the deal.

The one that sends another to the depths of hell.

Perhaps it's her subconscious means of revenge.

Even if she knows it's sick.

* * *

**Flashback**

When the door opens, Buffy stands there, staring at the ground.

"Hello, Faith." She says softly.

Faith already knows and just steps aside to let her in.

The silence is a little awkward, but it's only meant to lead towards something else.

Faith takes in a breath, and settles herself into a new skin.

He (she) suddenly grabs Buffy's shoulders and throws her across the room and is there immediately, up against her body with his (hers) and grinding fast.

"I'm a bit tired of the silence, aren't you, Slayer?" He (she) snarls.

Buffy moans in agreement.

"Then let's go." He (she) growls louder, grabbing her by the throat.

Tighter.

_(The strange bit of pleasure she got from all this power made her giddy sometimes, even when a part of her hated it to the core.)_

He (she) has so much power, handed to him (her) on a silver platter.

Spike (Faith) tears off Buffy's clothes in a flash and tosses her easily onto the bed, jumping above her, straddling her petite form.

Fucking her twenty different ways from Sunday and leaving her begging for more.

But sometime during the middle of the night, he (she) holds her against him (her) firmly as he (she) enters her again.

And suddenly it's soft.

And suddenly it's beautiful.

Caught up in the fact that this is Buffy, **Faith** (not Spike) can't help but give in.

"Buffy..." Crying out the name of the one she (not he) always wants.

The one she (not he) always wanted.

But not like this; never like this.

Calling her name and it makes it so much harder for Buffy, who's pretending it's someone else.

Something else.

So when Buffy digs her nails into the skin angrily, Spike (Faith) knows never to say a word again.

_(It made her hurt so badly, the nails in her skin incomparable to the nails driving into her heart.)_

And Faith (not Spike) becomes angry; angry that Buffy dares to hurt her (not him), to **use** her (not him) as she does.

In turn, Spike (Faith) laughs harshly and thrusts harder, rougher, wanting to cause pain, wanting to see blood.

All the blood Faith (not Spike) has never spilt.

It was always her (not his) blood on Buffy's hands.

Spike (Faith) growls and bites deeper, fucks harder, loving the pain as much as Buffy uses it to help her feel.

Not realizing she's here for another reason.

Not wanting to believe she's here to be with **her** (not him).

**For** her (not him).

Because she's in denial, and she doesn't even know it yet.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you one and thank you all, for reading this fic. It is one of my favorites that I have written, and it has taken the hardest to write. Your reviews are very much appreciated, and I hope you continue to stay with me as I continue to write my twisted little stories in my spare time.  
**

**There is one more chapter left after this; I hope you enjoy. **

**Please review.**

* * *

**Faith**

When the last one leaves, Faith shuts the door and sighs. She rakes her fingers (all of them dirty) through her sweaty hair and she doesn't care that she is feeling sore. Stepping into her bathroom, enjoying the cool of tile against her tired soles, she flicks on the light. She sees the dark under the eyes, the sultry look that isn't purposeful, the lips of pure unadulterated sex. Often times there are moments when she wishes she could change her face.

Tonight is one of those moments.

She lets them pretend she is using them, even if she's the one left feeling like an old shirt that is worn to do something dirty because there's a stain that just won't come out, no matter how long you scrub at it. She lets them think that they know they are the victim, because she's so used to wearing the shoes of the predator. She lets them pretend to believe whatever they want because if this is what they want, it is what she wants, too. She is not a pushover, she just thinks this is redemption.

Pay for the sins you have committed.

And so she does.

When she finally leaves the bathroom, she cleans. It gives her a dull sense of accomplishment, something a little different than the other things she does. Maybe if she keeps her apartment clean, she'll be renewed and clean, too. Funny how things just don't work that way. Funny how she can't wash her hands clean. Or her feet. Funny how nobody **wants** to save her. Funny how when she scrubs at her tiles, vacuums her carpet and changes her sheets, there is no Jesus to cleanse **her**. To save her.

Not that it matters. She cleans anyway.

She has two outfits that she takes out whenever one of them are over. There's the rough Faith, then there's the gentle Faith. She slides on the skin accordingly; she can tell which one they need by the look in their eyes as they step in the door. She always acts surprised. She never is. She hangs up her skins, keeping them safe until the next time and she sits down, vulnerable and exposed.

This is the real Faith.

They never once asked to see the real her, which really is a strange blend between the two extremes. If they had asked, they might find that they like it. But nobody ever asks, so she never says a word. It hurts too much to be honest, at this point. In some twisted way, she deserves this. At least, that's what she believes. She deserves to be treated like this, because it scares her to think about being treated in a way that doesn't involve some sort of abuse.

She thinks it may be a complex.

She's probably right.

She's grown too big for these shoes; they pinch her heels and tear at the flesh, but she won't take them off. Pretend, she thinks. Pretend for the sake of helping **them**. Because it was never quite about her, even when it was. Everything she did after meeting them involved them - around them, for them, about them - in some way. She hates to think so, but truth is truth, isn't it?

She doesn't like to fuck. It's a little known fact that she actually despises it. Little known, because only **she** knows. She's pretended to like it - love it, even - all these years because it's all she's ever known. Besides, it's the only way anyone will ever want her and need her and that's all that matters. They justify what they do by believing she **loves** it. She justifies it in her head by believing they **need** it. They block out the fact that **they **love it, and she blocks out the fact that **she** needs it. The only thing she's ever needed. Not fucks, not alcohol; but to be needed. She fucked and she fucks, both for different reasons. She fucked because back then, it was all about control. Something she never had, something she'll never have. Now it's acceptance she wants. She's got a need to be needed, and if fucking is the way to get it, she'll do it.

And she does it.

Both parties believe it's the way to go. That it makes all the sense in the world. But it doesn't stop her from wondering why they never call anymore. They don't even acknowledge her. Angel does, but he doesn't look her in the eye anymore. The rest of them don't look at her at all. She's a reminder of their flaws. Flaws that have been poured into a single body of faith.

Of Faith.

When they look they see their pain, so glaringly obvious to them, even if not to each other. So they don't look. It does something she will never admit.

It hurts.


	9. Chapter 9

**Danke once more for sticking with this story, I have enjoyed reading your reviews and hopefully you all enjoyed this fic, as dark and depressing as it is...  
**

**Stay tuned for more stories; there is one coming sometime this week, I believe. I just need to recheck it. **

**Enjoy and review.**

* * *

She hears the question as her hand is turning the doorknob.

"Can we just leave Faith out of this one?"

"Whatever."

_Ken._

Always playing cool, the snot-nosed brat.

"Fine by me."

_Red._

She was funnier when she babbled like an idiot.

"Sure thing, Buff."

_X-man._

His Buffy-whipped quality is entirely unappealing.

"Why?"

_Queen C._

She's just a rich bitch with class.

"Are you positive we can do this without her?"

_Soulboy._

A bloodsucking vampire with a Jesus complex.

A couple more words she takes no heed of.

A few sentences here and there to make up lies to make up a reason.

Or two.

Then a few murmurs of agreement.

Then,

"Good. It's settled. Break!"

_B._

Always the Golden Girl; always the superior.

Faith's hand releases the knob and she steps back softly.

Turning, her shoulders slump and she shoves her hands into her pockets after lighting the cigarette in her mouth.

She walks.

The door opens and they all freeze at the sight of her figure heading away.

She keeps walking.

Nobody says a word.

She flips them a finger without looking back, and disappears into the darkness.

_Who the fuck cares..._

It's not Faith they want, anyway.

* * *

**END.**


End file.
